


January 24th

by expectingtofly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (in the beginning but i promise it ends happy :), Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, and these characters deserve to live happy lives, bc the finale sucked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectingtofly/pseuds/expectingtofly
Summary: In 2003, Dean sits in a Walmart parking lot and celebrates a miserable birthday alone.In 2021, he's just happy to have his family together, and he'll be happy if his birthday slips past uneventfully. He doesn't have a good track record with birthdays, and he doesn't expect this one to be much better.Thankfully, Cas, Sam, and Jack have other plans.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 155





	January 24th

**•** January 24th, 2003 **•**

“Happy birthday to me,” Dean muttered, cracking open another beer. The Impala’s heating whirred, fighting to keep the cold out, the radio playing a mixture of music and static. Through the windshield, he could see the dark exterior of the Walmart, out back of which he’d parked under a broken streetlight.

He glanced at his phone, but there were no new messages. Bobby had called him earlier to wish him a happy birthday, to ask how he was. Dean hadn’t told him that he was alone. His dad had left a week ago for a rugaru case in Indiana. Dean hadn’t heard from him since, which either meant the rugaru was dead and buried, or something bad had happened… but he didn’t want to consider that. His dad had probably gotten tied up in another case in the same area. When he’d call or text again, Dean didn't know. Not tonight, that was for sure. He didn’t know if his dad even remembered it was his birthday, or cared.

Grabbing the plastic Walmart bag in the passenger seat, he pulled out the pie he’d bought for this not-so special occasion—blueberry, because the store had run out of apple. He winced opening up the plastic container; he was pretty sure his right wrist was sprained, courtesy of getting thrown against the wall during the salt ‘n burn his dad had sent him on before leaving. He’d found the bones soon enough and disposed of the ghost, and today Bobby had clued him in to a possible poltergeist case a few miles away. He’d head there tomorrow. 

Tonight, it was his birthday. Which didn’t mean much, all things considered. Earlier, he’d considered going to a bar, trying to find someone for a quick hook-up, but he was tired and bruised from the fight with the ghost, and in all honesty, he just wanted to fucking sleep. The roar of trucks passing on the nearby highway and the cold leaking through the windows was going to make that difficult.

He glanced at his phone again, but it remained dark and silent. Fucking ‘course Sam wouldn’t text. He was angry at himself for even expecting him to. They hadn’t spoken since Sam left for college. Dean knew why. Knew Sam was probably still pissed off from his last fight with their dad, too angry at Dean for not coming with him, for not telling their dad off. As if that was even an option. As if Dean could’ve changed their dad’s mind, as if he was supposed to abandon their dad when he was searching for the thing that killed their mom. That’s what was important—killing the monster, not taking fucking college classes.

The pie was cold and a little stale, but he was too hungry to care. “Smoke on the Water” played on the radio, and he turned the volume up a little. The trees lining the parking lot shook in a gust of wind Dean could feel rattle the car, and a stray shopping cart creaked in an empty parking space nearby. Dean eyed it. If it drifted over here in the night and scratched his car…

His phone vibrated in the center console and he snatched it up. A text from Sammy. _Happy birthday._

Dean stared at the words for a long moment. The last text he’d received from Sam was a simple, _I made it to Stanford._ That had been nearly 5 months ago. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he tried to decide how to reply. How was Sam getting along? What nerdy classes was he taking? Had he met anyone? Did he regret leaving? No, most likely, Sam had found whatever he was looking for and was enjoying his normal, apple pie life. Weirdo.

“Thanks,” he settled on, because if he asked Sam a question about college, he’d only be waiting all night for a response that might never come.

Tossing his phone aside, he opened another beer.

He must’ve dozed off sometime later because he suddenly jolted out of sleep to an empty parking lot and 11:45pm on the dash. Stiff from sitting in the front seat, he rubbed at his eyes and swore as he almost knocked over a stray beer can at his feet.

Turning off the Impala to not run down the battery, he got into the backseat and kept his coat on instead of folding it into a pillow, covered himself with the two blankets usually stored in the trunk. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the back of the front seats, trying to ignore how tight his throat felt. Fucking pathetic, getting worked up over nothing. What had he expected? Today was just another day, nothing special about it. No reason to treat his birthday any different than any other day, to expect anyone else to treat it any different.

He clenched his hands into fists until the stinging in his eyes receded. Soon his birthday would be past and he wouldn’t have to feel like such a pathetic loser. _Well_ , he thought as he shut his eyes, _at least not one alone on his birthday._

  
  


**•** January 24, 2021 **•**

_Nothing like depressing memories to wake up to on your birthday,_ Dean thought, lying in bed, staring up at the bunker ceiling. That night in 2003 was still fresh in his memory. He remembered waking up stiff and half-frozen the next morning, driving to another case, one more year under his belt. That was probably the last year he attempted to celebrate his birthday—if drinking shitty beer in an empty parking lot could be considered much of a celebration.

He always remembered the day, even if he tried to ignore it, and so did Sam, and Bobby, when the guy was alive. But apocalypses and cases always took first priority, so any celebrating went on the back burner. He wasn’t one much for parties and gifts anyway.

Whispering and footsteps sounded in the hallway outside his bedroom door and he glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 8:16am. Way too early for anyone to be wandering around. Cas hadn’t been in bed next to him when he woke, which was strangely disconcerting. He’d gotten so used to waking up to Cas in the few recent weeks they’d been together. Miracle wasn’t in the room either, asleep on his dog bed like he usually was, and for a moment, in the quiet of his bedroom, Dean felt the terrible loneliness of that night 18 years ago.

That was a long time ago, he told himself, trying to push the gloom aside. For the first time in a while, he was cautiously hopeful that this birthday would be a good one—or, at least, not a miserable one. Every day recently had been a good day—a phenomenon Dean was still getting used to. Chuck was dead, Cas was alive, his whole family was together. It didn’t matter if his birthday was celebrated, if anyone even remembered it was his birthday or not. He was more than lucky with what he had now. What more could he ask for?

All the same, his birthday didn’t exactly scream fun times and good memories, and he kinda wished the day would just be over with. 

As he lay there, willing himself to get up, his bedroom door cracked open, and he looked over to see Cas peeking inside. 

“Oh,” Cas said, catching his eye. He stepped further into the room. “I was hoping you were still asleep.”

“Nope.” Dean propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed at his eyes. “Just woke up.”

Shutting the door, Cas came over and crawled into bed next to him. Dean lay back down to wrap him in his arms, and Cas kissed the side of his neck, then under his jaw, then his cheek, and finally propped himself up to look Dean in the eyes with a soft smile. Despite the heavy weight that had settled on him with the memories of his past birthdays, Dean found himself smiling back. 

Leaning down, Cas kissed him. “Happy birthday,” he said.

So, Cas remembered. “Yeah, guess it’s that day again,” Dean said. He glanced at the doorway. “How long you been up?”

“Not too long.” Cas studied him and Dean nearly squirmed under his gaze. Even without his grace, Cas still managed to make him feel like his soul was on display. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Just, uh, just thinking.” He touched a powdery white splotch on Cas’ t-shirt, a black AC/DC shirt that used to be his. “This flour or cocaine?”

Cas gave him a look. “Flour." He kissed Dean again, then pulled away too soon. "Are you ready to get up?”

“Yeah, was about to. Why? Were you cooking?”

“Um, maybe.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “You should come to the kitchen. There’s, uh, something you need to see.”

“What?”

“Just, come on.” Standing, he tugged on Dean’s hand, urging him out of bed.

Curious, Dean got up and let him lead him down the bunker hallway—Cas hadn’t even let him get dressed, insisting it was urgent. As they neared the kitchen, he caught the smell of coffee and baked goods, and he heard laughter, Jack’s, and someone quietly shushing him, Sam.

“What’s going on?” he asked, but Cas only said,

“You’ll see.” He paused before the doorway to the kitchen and gestured. “You go in first.”

Still unsure of what he was gonna be faced with, Dean braced himself before entering the room.

Darkness... then Jack leapt out from behind the kitchen island as Sam flicked on the lights.

“Surprise!” Jack shouted, and Dean was bombarded with both Miracle racing over and running laps around his feet and Jack wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

“Fuck—woah.” Dean hugged Jack back and looked around the room. Balloons were tied to the kitchen island, which was covered with a pie, bacon, a breakfast casserole, and wrapped gifts. 

“Happy birthday!” Jack said, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Were you surprised?”

“Yeah, shit.” Dean looked back at Sam and Cas, who were smiling almost as big as Jack. “I didn’t know you guys were gonna do all this.” 

“Cas and I made apple pie,” Jack said, letting go of Dean to point to the gifts. “And these are for you.”

“You made pie?” Dean asked Cas. “And didn’t burn down the kitchen?”

“Sam helped,” Cas admitted. 

Coming forward, Sam clapped Dean on the back. “Happy 70th birthday,” he joked, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Funny.” But he pulled Sam into a hug. Sam let out a noise of surprise, then hugged him back. 

Shit, they really had remembered, and gone above and beyond. Letting go of Sam, Dean cleared his throat. “This is, uh, this is really nice.” Damned if he didn’t get a little teary-eyed, though he would’ve denied it if anyone called him out.

Cas made him sit down at the table and served him a heaping serving of casserole, set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Sam lit candles on the pie and carried it over to the table as he, Cas, and Jack sang a horribly off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Dean rolled his eyes, but he blew out the candles and took the card Jack handed him. 

“So this is what you were hiding,” he said, it dawning on him. Yesterday, he had walked into the library and startled Jack, who’d sprawled his upper half over the table, saying, “Don’t look! It’s a surprise.”

He looked up at Cas. “And this is why you were asking me all those damn questions. You were asking for gift ideas?” A week ago, Cas had hounded him with a series of vague questions that sounded suspiciously like the ones he’d been asked around Christmas, leading to several gifts under the tree.

“Dude, you didn’t think we’d actually forget your birthday, did you?” Sam asked, sitting down across from him. 

In hindsight, he guessed he should’ve realized they were planning something, but it’d been a long time since his birthday meant anything more than a few beers and takeout. “No, uh. Just didn’t expect all this.”

“You deserve it,” Cas said, sitting next to him, sincere as always. 

His face warming a little, Dean opened the card Jack had given him, smiling at the scrawled words in crayon—they really needed to work on the kid’s spelling. Sam and Cas had signed it too, and he smiled at the _you’re a dinosaur now_ from Sam, and the _I love you_ Cas had written, accompanied by a small red heart. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking up. “For, uh, for all of this.”

“‘Course,” Sam said. Reaching over, Cas took his hand, and Dean squeezed his hand tightly before kissing him. Fuck, his eyes were stinging again—but it was his birthday, he should get a free pass.

“Try the pie!” Jack told him as he tried to discreetly thumb at the wetness in the corner of his eye. “Cas and I improvised with the recipe.”

Against all odds, the pie was pretty great, and Dean slipped food to Miracle sitting at his feet to hide how he couldn’t stop smiling.

Cas knocked their knees together under the table, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Happy?” he asked, pulling back to look at him.

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking around the crowded table, at the warm food, at Sam and Jack. He met Cas’ eyes and smiled. “Really happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> i _had_ to write something for deano's birthday. any headcanon where he's alive and happy sits right with me bc he deserves it :)
> 
> thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and your personal headcanons about how dean is celebrating his birthday :)) you can check out my tumblr [here](https://expectingtofly.tumblr.com/) :)


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